Intellectual musings of a nature varied,
they may be thoughts of events miscarried,
ideas and equations, of the life to be,
some call it dreaming, some philosophy.

The greatest of thinkers that ever tread,
this earth so vile deep-rooted in hatred.
Preaching their take on the events of the day,
and dissecting life, till their hair turned gray.

They told you all, secrets many countless more,
as they brought your sadistic face to the fore.
For this they were at times castrated and maimed,
by the world who thought, the seers be blamed.

Still by good luck and fortune better still,
endlessly though they hunted, they failed to kill
and the wisdom of the centuries, still stands strong,
to call wary hearts that seldom tread wrong

I muse to myself, what these thoughts do,
do they achieve their ends or endlessly brew,
a fatal mix of musings that end up nowhere,
and just a load of chatter for the ears to bear.

For a philosophy no matter, brilliant it may be,
still it only does its job, that’s to make you see,
And after that the reins of your life are still yours,
the choice to drive ahead or the morbid lures.

Choose if you shall the latter you may,
weave unending dreams of words that stray,
Ecstatic you may feel in the moment of that night,
Still if you not act, sorry shall be thy plight.

But if you be wise, then you make the right,
choice of the day, in your starless nights,
And creatively thus you may fuel you heart,
and weave brilliance from the dream as you start.

For philosophy, not backed by an impulse divine,
of the creativity that counts highest in the line,
of thy actions that you take on this accursed sod,
shall yield you naught but a forsaken God.

But who am I to tell you the way,
a hypocrite you may call me with a mask so gay,
But O layman, I hold no grudge for your heart,
For Life finds its philosophy in my meager art…